Transit camps that look like concentration camps.
Fenced in as cattle.
No gas chambers to be seen, no gas fires either.
The people get colder.
Younger and older.
They're full of lost and lonely souls.
Women, and children.
All the same goal.
From a home that's unstable, to a missing table.
Complete with Gingham table cloths, brilliant white with squares on.
The message is nobody cares on our planet.
The windows are catching the glint of the light.
The windows hang open, all day and all night.
They're nowhere in sight.
The windows that is.
No windows, no doors, just fences.
Not often daytime.
More often night.
This Skid Row is full of children that cry.
Some of whom die.
Too many in fact.
Some born in transit.
Too many are stuck.
The world turns it's face away.
To the displaced just another day.
(c)Livvi

She's hiding under it.
Hard man.
Give it your best shot.
You know that you won't.
Woman you sit and you shiver.
Remove your arrow from it's quiver.
Aim hard and fast into his heart.
A spot of story starting.
And now my darling.
We are parting.
Now you can't run and hide.
She can't decide whether to shoot you or kiss you.
If you weren't there.
Good grief, she'd miss you.
From her silk bow flew an arrow, missed you darling, hit a sparrow.
This is just a little fun.
Silly tale started, nearly done.
She doesn't shoot her lover.
Never ever would.
Never aims at birds, men or bees.
Ignore these ridiculous words if you please.
Just another phenomena.
Another stupid bit of words.
(c)Livvi

Through the fragile looking glass,
Sealed edges, air tight?
Watching dragons as they pass.
Envisaging witches,
Stuck behind glass.
They're standing round copper tone cauldrons
All full up with steam.
The noise is peculiar.
The roaring of dragons too close at hand.
The cauldrons bubble.
The witches whisper.
The dragons wail.
The dragon upon his back sports a sail.
Tries to break through the glass with his mightiest tail.

The dragon had made it
Fantasy left behind the mirrors border.
Accompanied by forward marching bearded dwarves and folk of elven kind.
Pursued by orcs with knives and forks.
With disgusting faces.
And empty bellies.
The dragons, they turned, with sulphurous breath, chased away orcs with one mighty blast.
Back through the mirror the ugly orcs fled.
Straight into the witches cauldron.
Not dead.
The potions the witches were brewing, today ,contained ingredients to chase scary away
Ugly creatures, converted,beautiful.
The rest of the *** contents made into soup.
Making ugly creatures lovely.
Ever seen a pretty Orc?
You'll know where he's been if you ever do!
(c)Livvi

Starlit moments lift the soul.
Moonbeams tickle tops of trees.
Sunlight bathes the flower pots.
Left on the patio drinking in the sunsets and dawn breaks.
Raindrops fill the sullen skies.
They empty their image.
And the sky becomes blue.

The birds are flying and landing.
Landing only to pick at seeds.
Seeds they can't get at.
They're under the glass.
Transparent.
Birds only success, picking at weeds.
So they just remain hungry.
They feel the pangs.
They listen, from a safe distance.
Hearing the farmer's gun as it bangs.
(c)Livvi

Upon swans wings, soft and velvety, they flew.
Riding into the light.
Spirits of little ones.
Serenaded,by the sound of beating swans wings, as they fly.
Over the rainbow they will find somewhere safe, surely they will.

Nirvana, Heaven, or Paradise, let them be not lost.
Paradise is twice as nice, no matter how it's dressed.
May music play, to welcome them in.
Lord whoever he may be, presents a serene façade.
His hand is extended, he beckons them in.
(c) Livvi

Sleepless in the city.
The storming night cabs flying by.
The youth are making a racket.
Not a tennis match in sight.
Floodlights pollute the night sky.
Even the stars hide.
Can't abide the sleepless night.
Drunken teenaged revellers.
Revolting noisily outside my house.
Our tomorrow's,
Insomniac sorrows.
Start of academia.
The freshers are here.
(c)Livvi

Dead boys on beaches.
The world's going mad.
How in hell's name.
It's just too f**king sad.
The images, too much to bear.
Please we all know,so please don't share.
The child, whoever he is lost his life.
Death without dignity.
Please send him a prayer.
I'm not religious but, hell I so care.
There is apparently one saving grace.
They say his family are in the same place.
Too much.
Escape to death,one last mark of respect, I'm holding my breath.
I shall again breathe.
Holding tears on my sleeve.
Politicians, it's time to act.
(c)Livvi.

He likes pretty blondes with painted faces.
Long legs, open purses.
Smiles wide, teeth a little like diamante.
Superficial features, almost made of wax.
Melting in the summer's heat
Hot bath makes her glisten.
Friends told her but, she wouldn't listen.

He's just a user, an abuser.
An amuser, who plays with himself regularly.
He'll scribble his name on your bedroom wall.
Reminds you, he's been there before.
Keeps a tally graph, inside his bedroom drawer.

He'll etch his name in scented blood upon your bedstead.
While you're playing with his head.
He'll play with yours as well instead.
In and out of opening doors.
Never ending flirting circles.

Wanted yet another lover, found a blonde.
Another one with a melting face, made out of wax.

You love him, you pay.
That's the only way.
For in the coldest light of day, the plain girl with the auburn hair skin one lovely gets his care and makes his day.
She's another sucker.
Being played as always, by her ever loving leech.
(c)Livvi

She is waiting in the graveyard.
Mourning the vampire.
As he stood from the tomb.
She sees his figure hanging in the shadows.
Centre of gloom.
Collection of thoughts manipulated.
Twisted thoughts.
Visible incarnation.
He's watching her cry.
Devoid of emotion?
Dead but can't die.

They say the vampire doesn't cry, an emotionless being, no soul.
He sees her, he watches her, unable to bite.
He is tormented, as he watches her crying.
Wants to take her with him.
Can't bring himself to nibble.
His mouth is watering.
He's starting to dribble.
Dribbling tears, as they roll from his eyes.
Vampires don't cry, or do they?

Seeing her standing there.
Both wished he died proper.
Unable stop her,
She's visiting his grave again.
Somebody save her before it's too late.
A guilty conscience, prevalent at the front of his head.
His head bowed disgracefully, wishes he was dead.
(c)Livvi

Night-time falls inside my heart.
As if a playwright,  sketching a plot.
Dotting the i and crossing the ts.
Or crossing the eyes and coming to tea.
Night-time is a sad time.
Or maybe it's not.
A time during which yesterday passed and tomorrow's to visit.
At least I hope it is.
I have not contemplated a will.
Perhaps it's because I have nothing, no nothing at all.
Life is exciting, I'm having a ball.
Life is confusing I'm fighting the dark.
My eyes falling open, I'm feeding the spark, or the spark's feeding me.
Again thoughts devour me, I'm down on my knees.
Thoughts invade my head as I slip into bed, or fall from it.
Nothing's sinister or mad, just a poet wearing my poet's head and hat.
Want the world to know what I think of this or muse on that.
Today my friends, I declare indeed I wear said poet's hat, quite the nicest hat that I possess, it possesses me too.
(c)Livvi

I woke up from a dream, in which I met an old lady, who was such a *****.
My grandson, who is two ate fish fingers from a plate, as he sat in the luggage rack at the front of the bus.
The old lady got off chuntering and muttering, that he shouldn't be eating fingers made out of fish, as he was sat on the bus.
****** woman picked them of and stole them straight from his plate,
Muttering, that it was disgusting eating fish fingers while sat on the bus.
"Listen here mate, that's wholly inappropriate", said I.
Somehow resisting the urge to punch her in the eye.
I cursed and cussed and I gave her my worst.
While my grandson, just sat still on the bus, still a little bemused
He's not used to old lady's pinching his food.
She got off the bus, after facing my daggers, just looks, as I don't often cook.
She had the audacity to steal his tea, apart from bits of verbal conflict, got off ****** scot free she did.
My grandson, he just looked up at me, after squishing the remnants into my knee.
My most expensive rain coat is now in need of washing.
I'm wondering now who'll be fitting the bill.
My heart melting grandson looked straight into my eyes.
At the end of this story, he's the perfect prize.
But he's still a little hungry, as she stole his fish fingers.
And this silly bit of prose is just a pack of silly lies.
Made up as the result of a dream, I just had.
Here's hoping you enjoyed my tale.
It's pouring with rain and blowing a gale.
Probably the noise it drew me from sleep.
The times when dreams are prevalent.
When fantasy from dreams be inventive and put to wholly good use.
(c)Livvi

De'ath sat in the corner.
Toking on his pipe.
He wore a pair of carpet slippers.
Given to him by his wife.
His son came in from the store, he said "Dad you don't want to be smoking that ******* no more, it'll surely be the death of you."
De'ath said "no son of course, your right; without pipe tobacco the future is bright."
Mrs Death discarded his ifs and butts.
Okay, no butts, just bits of pipe dust.
Flakes of pipe tobacco scattered all around the room.
The mouthpiece of his pipe had been nibbled round the edges, he found it somewhat therapeutic.
Mrs De'ath said "Please dear, will you give your pipe to me, as a non-smoker you'll be able to breathe".
"Of course dear" said De'ath, as he took his last breath.
A little too late, today was his date.
His successor knocked ******* the door.
"Let me in, I'm ****** freezing".
Mrs De'ath opened the door, she told De'ath so many times before that she knew the score.
Smoking would surely be the death of him
Obviously, she knew best.
Clever Mrs De'ath.
(C) LIVVI

Black as the wings of the raven lay the petals of the darkest rose.
It grows politely in the hedgerow.
Discreetly awaiting plucking.
Black roses are rare.
So rare.
Precious as diamonds.
Not for taking, nor stealing.
Maybe their petals are stained.
Sharp horned black roses are they actually real?
(c)Livvi

There are zombies out there at the base of the hill.
Just ate Jack, now they're waiting for Jill.
I don't like Sundays, as they're always there staring, long time continually scaring.
They just couldn't care less, only hunting for dinner.

Their scouts are about, all looking for snout.
Their eyes are wide open, staring right through, all the humans they see,
Thinking of nothing just looking for tea.
They don't speak at all, merely mumbling, they all lost their tongues.
Stopping for a moment, to **** on their thumbs.
Really good at moaning and groaning.
Crying fake tears.
Tommy the tormented one is stroking his ears.
Their stomachs are grumbling.
They're so very hungry.
Want you and me.
With fine Scottish bonnets, pretty spicy, bouquet garni.
Zombie fodder for Sunday tea.
(c) Livvi

When you can't reach the stars at the top of the stairs.
When your eyes become blinded in your darkened domain.
All you find is storm, upon storm.
Barrage balloons and a million blue moons ,none that I can find, pray someone remind me that life's really good.
I find no interest but, I know that I should.
When lost moments are gone and you can't see the sky, the nails on your fingers scratch hard, you're wanting to cry,but your tears are all gone, stolen by one, who says that you're stupid.
Tears came back, they're chasing the tracks of the scratches of nails, where snails become slugs, salt hating bugs.
Disintegrate into puddles of slush.
Reminiscent tears, begin more to gush as they flush out bad feelings of battling with demons.
Want more soft furnishings to cushion my head, I fight onwards and upwards, wish I was dead.
I doesn't always follow, as sometimes I'm mellow, tinged with spots of cowardly yellow.
The bus passed the stop and I just can't step off.
The world keeps on turning, somewhere a sparks still burning.
Never know why, I just need a good cry.
I want a good sob.
I know that I do.
My world is beaten black shades of blue.
I sit in the corner and rock like the clock on the shelf, with the crocodile tears, just a big fish out of water, they call me a flounder.
A bit of a chicken, scratching the farmyard.
Guess what ladies and gentlemen the poet's a ******.
Not too hard to work out I guess, yep, everyone knows that the poet's a mess.
Large black dog, swirls round my head, still wish I was dead, born a coward always will be, stay in bed, take some proper medication..no not suicidal, some delicious anti-d's.
All shall pass, soon I shall be me again,
Honestly.
(c) Livvi

I am a robot to the other's.
Protective of all human kind.
I am a guardian of many.
Take me as you shall find.
I will serve and respect you, as you are the wearer of human skin.
The bearer of human sin.
As Robot; I know not of sin.
I am emotionless, inanimate made of tin, or similar non corrosive metal.
Human is conditioning,into a master robot .
Crafting, grafting, making sense.
Manufactured of filaments and circuit boards.
As Robot,I may not harm a hair on human head, by way of lacking action.
Robot, I must obey what humans say, avoiding harming human fellows.
You may scrap your fellow robots, put them in the melting ***.
Causing harm to ****-sapiens is one thing I may not.
Above all, I as robot must protect myself for future stealth type operations.
But I can't harm humans.
Useful as a fighter I am not, for I cannot be a warrior it goes against my laws, all three.
As I can do no harm, totally against my doctrine.
A domestic engineering robot is the only thing I am.
(c)Livvi

A tree stands alone, rarely noticed, in a place of silence, by anyone, bar the birds.
It gets beaten by the sun in summertime.
In wintertime stripped bare.
Unnoticed, as ever.
Not a leaf left in sight, unless it is an evergreen.
A Christmas tree which features in a seasonal magazine
However: a star in it's own right.
Twinkling, welcoming.
Still standing all alone, but noticed nonetheless.
(C)LIVVI

When youth was my friend, confidence was not.
Nor, was it my enemy.
I just never ever thought.
The confidence would catch me.
Now I'm well and truly caught.
Embroiled in frilly, dark or silly words.
Spat out like pips by passing birds.
From the seeds grow ideas.
Sometimes classical, others plain weird.
Mood affecting.
Love rejecting.
Now I'm getting older, I guess I just forgot that confidence was discovered.
Never, would I have stood upon the velvet stage.
Edged with bravado, painted stars, upstarts noisily with vibrant edges.
A plethora of strange, sometimes pretty flowers.
Often paper ones.
Now I play the strangest words.
Usually minutes.
Sometimes hours.
Showers of words.
Wordsworth not, wordsmith yes.
All flight of one aged flightless bird.
Flights of fancy, Nancy.
(c)Livvi

They waved their guns up at the sun.
Bang bang,
Corona expired.
Ousted fire.
Bang bang you're dead.
Blame laid unfair and square.
On evil's ugly head.
All gone.
No replacement no repair.
Not fair.
But that's life.
Terrorist's wife.
(c)Livvi

Somewhere in the world my loves.
Love is missing.
Missing in ministries, filled with the cry of the heartbroken wenches.
Stuck there perhaps for ever.
Muddy trenches.
Lined with lace.
****** soldiers losing face.
Their whips made of satin strands, taken from chocolate boxes.
Locked up in closets from the school of hard knocks.
Long lost in mines, emptied long since.
Little old ladies, with cute purple rinses.
A receipt signed in dragon's blood for the pain that they gave.
Save for the memories of snowdrops in June.
Once he stood there in doublet and hoes, a classless cavalier, who left much too soon.
At the base of his mountain from where she once fell, lived a tale on a lion and that I can't tell.
Only the lion can, the lion he's the main man.
(C) LIVVI

There are flowers in my garden.
Roses in summer they climb up my wall.
In springtime gentle flowers of purple, yellow, white and pink fight to scramble through the soil.
A never ending toil.
Late summer, edging into early autumn, twisting fronds of honeysuckle become tangled round the wire.
Entwined until the  leaves fall obeying autumn's coming call.
Alice is hiding underground again, she's sleeping in the fallen warren.
Keeping silly secrets to herself.
The white rabbit became a guinea pig.
The Cheshire Cat broke his teeth eating discarded bits and bobs.
His grin was spoiled.
(c)Livvi

Praying for Sunday to come along.
Putting on bonnets.
Off to church.
Why may that be?
Find belief from nowhere.
Believing in nothing.
Seeing the son?
Or the grandsons and daughter.
(C) LIVVI

Tortured necks swing fluently in time with lovely beats.
They say, they're only playing.
Their trigger finger gets stuck in awkward places.
Place of abject disgrace.
The terrorists not wanting to lose their faces.
Nor reveal their missing morals.
Walking on hot sands destroying gorgeous corals.
(C) LIVVI

The wind lifts the vibrant orange kite.
The flyer wraps its holding wire around her fingers.
A lifting gust.
Such gusto.
The lady flies.
Sky high on Saturday.
Up up and away.
Kite at play.
Her feet dangle at a strange angle.
Pretty angel offered her a hand.
The kite at last set free.
(c)Livvi

She's too beautiful for modern man.
She maybe deserved kisses to make her smile.
She's just an image upon dead canvas.
Still heart stopping.
Focus of many eyes.

She's lacking colour.
Dreary but still stunning.
She's worth a million dollars.
Actually priceless.
Not for sale.
Sure some would buy her if they could.

Her face is fixed.
Unsmiling.
Antique lady.
Unchanging.
Eternal.
Gay Paris.
No smile.
Watching the tourists as they just keep passing by.
(c)Livvi

He's a ghost in a darkened room.
Windows open.
Breeze, tickling the pleats as it pleases.
His spirit fills the air with white noise.
He kisses you on the cheek.
You can almost taste the spearmint gum, he was chewing before the crash.
You remember watching him pass.
From this world to wherever next.
Strange really.
You were less of a priority to the struggling medics.
It hurt like hell.
You recall it well.
They say you don't remember trauma.
But this day, you'll keep in mind forever.
Your daughter Lucy with her close cropped yellow hair, walks into the room,
She knows you're both there.
Visited the foreboding house.
She just passed, had to say goodbye.
Still full of sorrow.
Happy that her parents had died together.
Saving grace.
Together forever at last.
(c)Livvi

Funny moments.
Sitting and thinking about rabbits jumping around on sunny banks.
The children chuckle as they watch them.
Shush children, you'll scare them away.
It's pure natural love watching animals at play.
The dog's getting excited.
You crouch behind her, you don't want her to scare the bunnies away.
Strangely they're oblivious to our presence.
I guess they must be used to us.
A kind of relationship dynamic.
It's as if they recognise us from yesterday.
We left them some crisp carrot tops.
Maybe that's why they trust us.
A loud voice booms out from behind us..one they're not familiar with.
"You coming home love?"
He waves his air rifle, menacingly.
Perhaps he fancies, rabbit pie!
Not on my watch, that's for sure.
Run little rabbits, run.
He's not a farmer, but he sports a gun.
They scarper back into their warren.
Post haste.
Phew!
(C) LIVVI

In the gutter she sits.
It's raining again.
The drain is calling to the bobbing twig.
The twig that she snapped from the sapling.

She's so bored,mummy's at work again.
Now she's sitting in the rain.
Ripples at the flow with her cheap laced up shoes.
Her shoes all stained with salty water residue.
Kicking at the water.
She truly is her mother's daughter.
Stubborn to the rotten core.
Mother's job is not too pleasant.
She's a pheasant plucker.
She always works on rainy days.
Her daughter knows not what she does.
Mummy says it won't be long.
You know she needs the money.

She oughts go home.
But she'll still be alone.
The owl in the tree at roadside suggests she finds a towel.
Great notion, but little lassie can't speak owl.

The sky's wide open now.
It's pouring frown.
Releasing it's stress.
Wet shoes, wet skirt.
Sodden hair, soggy vest.
Supposes she really should go home.
Her hair's just a dripping mess.
Soggy tresses.

Time to go home little girl.
Mummy may be worried.
(c) Livvi

Many have wanted to leave the world by way of their own volition.
And indeed some poor souls do so.
When they feel there's nothing left on earth with nowhere left to go.

Me, myself and I have also suffered the same desire.
I'm a dreadful coward.
Can't pluck up the ***** to go.
At the back of my sometimes stormy head, hereby hangs a coiled tale.
It's been bad, cruelly bad at times.
Also it's been really good.
Times when I wished I had succumbed,
Times I'm glad I didn't.
Generally they are prevalent these days.
Only the good die young, they say.
Thoughts of dying played games with my head.
Years of downward spirals, water treading.
Here and then internally debated.
It may be better if I were dead.
Me, I'm just a chicken, never ever could take my own life.
I'm scared of death, but then I'm not.
Stressors in life just **** me off.
But I'm a coward, never could I curse enough the world to go give up and die.
For those who passed this way, I pray that they do rest in peace.
In the hearts and minds of those left behind, they found their peace.
Strong too long, so sadly.
They just got beat!
(c)Livvi

How he loves her, he's her anchor.
"If it wasn't for me you know"
He keeps her safe upon the path.
It's what he wants her to think.
The path she walks upon is lined with stones of diamonds.
Which catch the gift of sparkling light, apparently.
The light is just that, the only thing just about survives.
He thrives on his manipulation of her subservient position.
The lady of the house
He tells her that he loves her and he will never leave.
"No way".
In point of fact the *******'s playing a game of make believe.

He thinks he's a pilot, a ****** rudder.
Guiding the country badly.
A perverse person, who loves to take control.
He is a raging sadist, while ******* she is.
He beats her hard and makes her play, with bits and bobs she dare not say.
Makes her keep it to herself.
Upon the threat of imminent death, which f course will be well covered.
Wouldn't do to be discovered.
How dare she disgrace his position and say.
Politicians smile hides his other side away.
Nonces, ponces. abusers.
All for one and one for all.
Old boy network.
Bunch of jerks.
Livvi

The young woman of summer dreams.
Dark glasses, a sun hat and bright stripey shorts.
Sits under the trees, with her offspring.
The three of them together.
They're watching the colourful boats as bobbing down the stream.
The race to the sea began.
No crew to guide them.
No compass to follow, onwards they flow.
Riding little ripples.
Their hulls tickled by minnows
The children giggled as their creations flowed away.
They chuckled as they waved goodbye.
Far away from the 'hood, found something really good.
Enjoyed their day at play.
Maybe they'll make the sea, maybe they won't.

Daddy came to take them all home.
Mummy and daddy, children holding hands.
A united band, a family , cruelly missing in todays society.
(c)Livvi

Her lover brewed her a lethal cocktail.
Aroma of tiger lilies.
He shakes it, gives it a scary stir.
Her lover, well he killed her.
Her spirit still remains.

She left a legacy.
She's out to save the hearts of the wretched ones.
Those in need of light protection.
Lets them know that she is there.
The purple haired juniper witch.
Still fresh in lively mind.
The truth is out there .
Oh unenlightened ones.
Breath in the air.
See the light.
Trysts of twisted truths.
Spirits exist.
We feel them without seeing.
Smell them as bunches of orange lilies, pungent ones.
Awareness of lily scent.
Indicative of living spirits near, of persons passed before.
We sense their passing souls lingering, a long time lost.
(c)Livvi

Do you know what?
Tomorrow never comes.
Well it didn't for you.
Sweet baby blue.
Blazing voice.
Swallowed by success.
A musical soul.
Through your veins ran such talent.
Opened your mouth and pleasure flowed.
What once was magic.
Bought forth wretched tragedy.

Talent damaged by a life of dreams of lemonade bubbles.
Lemonade full of trouble.
Hubble bubble.
Double trouble.

A diamond in the rough.
Tragic ending.
My god.
The loss of such amazing talent.
Amy sweet Amy.
Queen of the voice.
Sleep well.
Feed the ears of the world.
Still dance in the shadows.
You may in persona be gone.
Powerful voice without end.
Tomorrow and for many more tomorrows  we keep you near in heart and mind.
Tales  of being taken much too soon.
Of your sad loss the tales are true
Sleep long and peaceful.
Peachy lady.
Only the good die young.
(c)Livvi



.
...


Olivia Kent

Living, well it's just a job.
The unpaid task of population.
A pleasant job with unpleasant consequences.
We build and procreate.
Make families.
Who in turn amass and destroy.
The woods, forests and open spaces.
The deepest oceans, the beach fronts.
With litter bugs of little ones.
Flowers gone and trembling bees.
Look at their little trembling knees
What no honey!

In the city streets full of illicit money.
Plenty of money.
Big business men in pinstriped suits.
All believe they're kings of heavy hearts.
Stiletto heels sported by women of big businesses; nobodies business but there own
Flicked into switchblades in areas where cruelty rules,
Profoundly.
Where children are still sleeping amidst remaining flower beds.
The blades on the flick knives are strawberry toned.
The shape of the world honed from simple child development to world amendment.
Each day's just the same.
(c)Livvi

Her magic is something practical.
Her eyes entrance.
Her finger beckons to his heart.
The spell she casts crept straight from a book.
Made up a very special potion with the notion of falling in love.
The stars will bow and coo for her.
The sun will kiss her lips.
The pull of the moon will control his soul.
He will be drawn for sure.
The lure of her scent and her smile,
Controlled only by her and her practical magic,
(C) LIVVI

The lady smiled.
Teeth of ivory perfection.
Cheeks red as summer roses.
Hair flax like, thick and rippling,
Eyes like sapphires.
Burning sapphires.
She knows you know.
Read her thoughts by the way that she moves.
She is serene, demure.
Endearing.
It shows.
Her love shines as a lantern in the darkest night.
Offers a blanket of compassion, a cuddle without suffocation.
Love without ***.
It all gets too messy.
(C) LIVVI

I was there.
I held you in full view when she threw you to your knees.
I watched as she horse whipped your heart, the way that you whipped mine.
I laughed so hard that tears of ice crystals burnt my cheeks.
Once I was bitter, always sharp as lemon drops,
Acid drops of fantasy.
Bleed baby bleed.
The knots are stressed they're fast and tight.
You wore your just desserts like a child, pathetic and quivering.
A strange shade of vile hit me hard.
I smiled.
I thought out loudly to the world, thank god I'm free.
Reviled drunks and hunks.
Then I thought again, you know.
This piece of spiteful nastiness really isn't me.
But after a ****** day at work it made me feel better.
(c)Livvi

Together they huddled atop the old tree stump.
The worldly wise woman, she stopped and she spoke.
Two birds listened intently.
She asked their advice on the state of the world.
Still they listened intent, as her tongue spilled words,
Words tinged with tangerine sorrow.
They nodded their heads knowingly.
Uttered no responses

She reached into her scarlet shoulder bag.
The bag with coloured glass beads on.
She fetched some worms from the bottom.
She presented them to the beautiful couple.
Maybe they were a wedding gift.
They savoured the worms.
The wise woman removed her magnificent heavy ebony cloak,
Removed her raggedy black dress.
Kicked off her shoes.
A glint in her eye.
A caw and a noisy squawk.
Away they did fly.
Three birds, free birds.

Passing stranger found the discarded attire.
Put his hand into the bag.
Seeking nothing more than information.
Sadly all he did was opened up a bag of worms.
Worldly wise,worried worms.
(c)Livvi

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I miss your smile.
As I wave goodbye the tears fall.
They're tumbling as rolling acrobats.
They, they are out of control.
They are not clear tears.
They are tinged with rainbow colours.
Blue for the sorrow that made you have to say goodbye,
"Tara, Chuck".
Green for the jealousy.
The jealousy that just couldn't turn the other cheek.
Pink for the flowers that you last purchased for me.
Yellow for the friendship.
We held deep in our minds.
I feel.
Red for the passion, red as rubies and garnets.
Set in once love and lust.
Which once upon a time was strong.
Sadly crumbled into dust.
Ivory were the most precious of the tears that fell.

Thinking once we had it all.
No one can ever tell.
But now, there's nothing there.
Ivory teardrops, they're rare.
They signify the peace.
The peace I never mention.
It's hidden up my sleeve.
My sleeve offers me protection and soaks up all those tears.
The ultimate issue after many years.
(c)Livvi

His name was Natas and he drove the Uni-Link.
Keen occupation.
For a hellish dude.
He didn't wear any aftershave, with even a slight sulphuric twang.
He wore a bristling beard, that just covered up his pointed chin.
This bus driver.
Pleasant looking chap.
Was he really the bringer of mortal sin?
Really the bus driver this Saturday morn.

He smiled at the ladies.
Flat cap perched on his head.
It covers up his mini horns.

He was driving the ten thirty from Swaythling.
Off to town we go.
Hi **.
He drove safely and sensibly.
Got me to my stop.
My destination wasn't hell.
Neither was his today.
(c)Livvi

In each morning sneaks.
Rousing me from deathly sleep.
Electricity throbs.
Eyes wide open.
Night time robbed.
Another day resides inside.
Bed gives up it's precious cargo.
Time to go and face the world.
The world of coffee pots and toast.
Morning's here and last night just a mere ghost.
(C) LIVVI

Warren was almighty.
Alive and kicking.
Into the tunnels the ferret ran.
Collected rabbits for a pie.
Bet you didn't know where this was going.
Guess what, neither did I !
(C) LIVVI

Each morning sneaks.
Rousing me from deathly sleep.
Electricity throbs.
Eyes wide open.
Night time robbed.
Another day resides inside.
Bed gives up it's precious cargo.
Time to go and face the world.
The world of coffee pots and toast.
Morning's here and night is just a mere ghost.
(C) LIVVI

She fits into her world like a lock does to a key.
She keeps them safe and very sound, turning silently.
That's how it's meant to be.
Her key is cut individually.
Made to fit in the right spot.
Made to work so perfectly.
So practically.
Providing protective guidance.
Were moments, as spent with mother.
Sat upon her knee.
When as a child, I was there to listen and learn.
And now the adult mother is me
Mother to adults, who matter now.
Cues of grandchildren, to teach me all the rights and wrongs.
Queues of love brewing.
As a youngster, she sold them for a lousy song.
Wonder where those years have gone!
They disappeared much too quick.
(c)Livvi

A feather whistled down before her nose.
Twas carried of a fresh born breeze.
It fell from high above her.
Must have been a gift.

She picked it up and kept it safe.
Used it as a bookmark.
She's sure he sent it down to her.
To let her know that he was free.
He wore such gorgeous hues.
Pink, orange, grey and scarlet red.
Made her forget the blues.

For he once was a love bird.
Who spoke of so many things.
Of chances, romances, true love and lust.

From ashes of the Phoenix they may evolve into something better.
The love bird's playing guessing games.
For he has never met her.
(c)Livvi

The cathedral, tall as treetops, stood behind the broken land.
Echoing bells.
They rang throughout the city streets.
Requesting deliverance.
"Bring out your dead"
Tolled out by those who won.
Or as yet had not succumbed.
The broken ones cried out in vain.
Life could never be the same.
Daily, here passed by the cart,
Attendance of the red-crossed doors,
Passed by time.
And time before.
Bells called to the parishioners.
Please have faith, or so it seemed.

The cart approached another door.
The occupants were doomed for sure.
Of faith and love, of truth and lies,
The family of the dead do die.
There is no choice.
No simple voice.
Very little chance of life.  
Old Mr Smithers, he lost his wife.

Today with modern medicine.
Perhaps they would have stood a chance.
(C) LIVVI

Strolling down the rickety steps.
I got a lonesome fly past by the solo admiral.
The red one.
He darted into the bush.
Alighted for a moment.
Then both of us moved on.
Livvi

The words that you speak are kissing my ears.
The words that you speak can wipe away tears.
(c) Livvi

Standing on the the ridge.
Staring out to sea.
Knowing at last that you love me.

Love lasts a long time.
Life time unsure.
A short time may be all we have left.
Mere seconds from all eternity.
Eternally yours.

You know I am indeed.
Knowing is not ours to say.
Such knowledge belongs to no man.

Stood on the cliff tops.
Thinking about two lonely souls.
Rafts riding the tide, unsafe.
Shoreline's too rocky, our love may be dashed.
The tide and time are ours alone.
may waves roll onwards over the rocks.
Rock pools, full up with memories, memories overflowing.
It's winter now.
The ice cream vendors left.
The croissants became porridge and bagels.
The straw hats and tee-shirts became jerseys and raincoats.
Umbrellas and friendly fellas.
None as wonderful as you.
(c) LIVVI